I hate people

I got some stories to tell you when I feel less lazy, but for now, I'm a' bitch about my roommates' dog.

At the house here in Winnipeg, there are three dogs: Her Majesty, a two-year-old Jack Russel named Spencer, and a five-year-old shih-tzu named Fluffy. Of course Her Majesty is practically perfect in all respects. Spencer is a nice little dog, though he does pee when excited. (Well then don't get him worked up. Duh.) Fluffy is a problem.

But to make one thing clear: Fluffy is a problem because his people are a problem. His nominal owner is a 16-year-old girl who acts like a toddler. And she's babysat by her 19-year-old boyfriend, who seems like a fairly decent, responsible young man, but he has never had a dog and I don't think he particularly wants a dog. But since he was fool enough to shack up with this chick, he gets to clean up the dog's shit over and over in the living room while she does nothing. Ever. Once in a while she turns the dog out the back door, contrary to City by-laws of course, and lets him shit wherever and does not pick it up OF COURSE and also contrary to City by-laws. So now the back of the property is disgusting. And that doesn't really help the dog because he has no idea when he might next be let out. One time I told her the dog wanted out and she said "he ALWAYS asks to go out" and stayed in bed. So I took him out. But most of the time he doesn't even bother anymore. If he has to go, he craps in the living room. Poor thing.

After being spoken to repeatedly (I think it was after the sixth time he crapped in the house in eight days), the girl came up with the idea of turning him out in the little fenced area out front, which I was hoping to use for flowers in the summer. So much for that. And once he's in the pen, she figures she doesn't have to think about it anymore, so she leaves him for half an hour, an hour, as long as it takes her to remember. Then brings him back in without cleaning up, OF COURSE. But he, the dog, doesn't like that, so he's found a way to get out of there, and he simply runs around to the back door and asks to be let in. Earlier today he either was attacked by one of the neighbours' cats or fell on the icy stairs, because he was squealing and crying like a lost soul. Did anyone even notice but me? No. And the little bitch won't speak to me so much as to say hello, so unless I want to be constantly chasing her down to list the things I had to do because she won't look after her dog, I don't get a chance to talk to her. Let me tell you, I do NOT like her.

The other day, I think it was Tuesday, the boy and I had a long conversation, wherein I explained repeatedly that if they would take the dog out on leash at least every four hours, and walk him on leash until he craps at least once a day, the problem would not exist. So he, the boy, suggested we share the dog-walking. Ummmmmmmm... So how would that work? I take your dog out when I walk mine, and you take my dog out when you walk yours? Great, except you NEVER walk your dog so what this really means is "can you just walk our dog in addition to yours so we don't have to be responsible?"

No.

Ok. So the boy has made some attempts to walk Fluffy, about once every two or three days. But he "walks" for about 45 seconds and comes home, which is hardly helpful either. Then, Friday, he sees I'm about to take Her Majesty for a walk, so he's like "can you take Fluffy?" Yeah, I guess... Of course I don't particularly like Fluffy and Her Majesty REALLY doesn't like Fluffy because he's not fixed and his goal in life right now is to lick her ass every time he sees her, so we're not too happy, but it wouldn't be charitable to say no. So I said "sure, where is his leash?"

Er...

He doesn't have a leash.

Dafuq????? How can you own a dog and no leash? Then again, the dog isn't fixed, vaccinated, licensed, trained or liked, and they never take him out, so why am I surprised? So, the boy and the dog tagged along. Dog crapped on the sidewalk. No attempt whatsoever to pick it up. Then it occurred to me: this guy doesn't even know that you just don't leave dog shit on the ground. Sigh...

So anyway. We COULD lock up the dog in their room when they're away so he would crap where it doesn't become my problem to clean it up, but then he freaks out and makes an insane amount of noise. He can carry on for hours. And it upsets Her Majesty. Sigh...

Today, they all got up late and with a sore head after a late night (that's another problem, but not dog-related). The girl went out in her skivvies to put the dog out, but he suspected they were going out so he ran right around and came back in, without relieving himself. And then as everyone was getting ready to go out, he remembered that he had to go and started begging to be let out. Little bitch kicked him away, and everyone left. Hmmmmmmm... Now I can either take him out myself, or wait till he shits in the living room, clean it up, and report it to the landlady. The first solution is kind, the other is better for me. So, I took him out. No surprise, he pulls on the leash.

And did that solve the problem? HELL NO! Now he knows he can get me to let him out, so he keeps annoying me for more. Fuuuuuuuuuh...

My consolation in all this is that he has shit sticking to his fur (that's not good) and... he lies on their bed when they're not home. Baaaaaaaaahahahaha! But then again they don't seem to mind dog shit, so maybe they're ok with that.

Also, I should mention the little bitch kicks Fluffy, yells at him, and when she's home, mostly demands that he stay in his kennel, which is not a pen but a small travel carrier not big enough for him. She had a ferret for about a month and didn't clean the cage once. And she has three hamsters and is always yelling at them to shut up. And that's nothing to how she treats the boy. If it weren't illegal, I'd lay the mother of all beatings on her.

Another day, another dog fight

Her Majesty and I were in the elevator yesterday, going out to pee. We go out to pee very frequently these days, on account of her new obsession with pissing on her bed.

Anyway. The elevator stops on an intermediate floor, and a guy gets in. Then, Thor gets in.

Thor is an SPCA dog, I'm not sure if he's still being fostered or if his foster human adopted him. In any case, the SPCA identified him as a "pitbull cross". Because the SPCA here knows a total of five breeds: pitbull, shepherd, lab, shitzu and bichon. In reality Thor looks absolutely nothing like any of the above. He looks exactly like a Brittany spaniel, though a little larger. Like maybe 60 lbs instead of 40. But then, many dogs grow way larger than their breed standards. In any case, Thor looks like a big burly Brittany spaniel. And he's quite a personable creature, but he must have got into a dog fight before because every time his human sees another dog, she freaks out and wrestles Thor away. I don't think that's the best way to socialise him, really, but nobody asked for my opinion.

In any case, Thor was loose in the hallway while his human did who knows what, and he ran into the elevator and straight to Her Majesty, and pinned her in the corner. I don't think he had any hostile intentions, but Tinky-Winky freaked out on him, of course, so immediately it sounds like a major dog fight is going on. And I don't care for dogs freaking out Her Majesty, so I immediately grabbed him by the scruff with both hands (good thing there was no room for him to maneuver in the elevator) and yanked him away. The guy who had just got in the elevator took over, and between the two of us, we got him out of the elevator just as fast as he got in.

The funny thing is, Her Majesty obviously didn't see that we humans manhandled Thor out the door, so she figured she had scared him away with her Mighty Jaws of Death, and she was thoroughly pleased with the whole adventure. I don't think he even touched her, really, much less did her any harm.

But the moral is, if you get a dog, you should learn to break up a dog fight. Once upon a time when I used to read other dog owners' blogs, before I got aggravated with the Carebear ignorance of it all, all the dog owners who read each other's blogs freaked out over some dog fight that got in the news, and tried to brainstorm what to do in case your dog is attacked. One of them had once scared a dog off by waving a clipboard, but the others had no idea whatsoever. So again, here is how you break up a dog fight: use your prehensile hands to grab one or both dogs, and separate them. Seriously. Don't stand there screaming. Don't pull on the losing dog's leash. Just grab the dogs and separate them. Typically the safest place to grab a fighting dog is the tail or a hind leg, away from the toothy end. But if one dog has locked his jaw on the other, then you grab the jaws and pry them open. Srsly. Never mind freaking out and waving your clipboard.

That can't be a real shiba

I don't know how to include this video in a post so you'll have to click on it like in the 90's... but that's not the point.

You know what, I can believe that someone would manage to teach a shiba to do this. Some people have that kind of patience. But if they really have a shiba in their house, where is all the dog hair?

Diesel, part II

Diesel and his people moved out of the building. How sad... I like Diesel. Anyway, while he was waiting patiently in the back of the truck, I went to pet him. At first he started to growl when I intruded in his home space, but he was wagging his tail at the same time. Strange. Anyway, he recognized me, then we socialized for a while and I got some better photos of him, thusly:



What a handsome devil!

I am not amused

A dog bit me.

Her Majesty and I were in the Community Garden. I was chatting with a friend, and Her Majesty was lying in the shadow of the car, keeping cool. Then, two people approached with a loose dog, and they came into the garden to look at something. The dog saw Her Majesty and approached her with an aggressive posture, so I went to intervene. Her Majesty didn't get up but was visibly tense and on her guard. I put my hand on her back and tried to push the other dog away. Instead it went around me to go sniff Tinky-Winky's butt.

Tinky-Winky got up and started growling while I kept pushing the dog and telling it to slag off. It continued to stand aggressively and refused to move away. Finally Tinky-Winky gave a warning snap and that ugly cur laid into her. Luckily (I guess), since they were right in my feet, I was able to pick up Her Majesty fairly quickly and get her out of the other dog's reach before she got bitten. But as I was doing that, the nasty creature turned and bit me on the leg. And even after that, it kept refusing to move away, but stood pushing back as I tried to push it away with my leg, and stared at me menacingly. While its idiot owner (who happens to be an offspring of the idiot boss of the job I just quit) simply called it a couple of times, making no effort whatsoever to come and control her mutt despite the fact that obviously it doesn't come when called and it just got into a fight. Bitch... and I don't mean the dog.

Seriously, what the fuck? Your dog started a fight and bit someone and you don't even bother to come over and control it? I know I've been guilty of letting my dog off-leash when she couldn't be trusted not to get into a fight, but a) my dog has never bitten a person and b) if a fight starts I run to break it up. What a rotten family...

The more I know people, the more I love my dog.

Tinky-Winky's new best friend

Ever since Carter died, I figured Otis would be Tinky-Winky's new best friend, since he was her second-best friend before. Otis lives in our building and is a really sweet, quite large dog. Everybody loves him... except, of course, Her Majesty. When we first met Otis, the Creature was in her snapping-at-noses phase, so she would snap at his nose. Otis would leap out of the way, and then try again. So over time, this became a game. Otis pokes his nose at her, she makes a show of snapping, he makes a show of leaping out of the way. They find this hilarious. Now that Tinky-Winky is in a new phase of saying hello like a polite dog, Otis is rather disappointed that she won't play his game anymore.

But as it turns out, Tinky-Winky's new favourite dog is not Otis, but this handsome fellow:


Too bad he looked away, but oh well. You can see he's a quite large male pitbull. Intact, at that. His name is Diesel.

Now if you're very obsessive about reading this blog, you may remember that the first time we met Diesel, he was being handled by a small girl who had no control over him, and I found the whole thing alarming. Since then, I've heard many anecdotes of Diesel being aggressive to other dogs in the building. Now I'm not saying that aggression is ok when a small dog like Tinky-Winky does it, but the redeeming quality of Her Majesty is that you can overpower her easily, and she has less capacity to inflict serious damage than a 100-lb dog. A dog like Diesel can't afford to be aggressive, or he's gonna meet an untimely demise. (For the record, there came a time in my early days with Tinky-Winky when I wondered whether she wasn't heading towards euthanasia herself.)

All this to say, when Her Majesty and I came face to face with Diesel and his human in the woods, I thought there might be trouble. The other human (the alpha male in Diesel's pack, who does in fact control him and does obedience work with him) and I each restrained our mutts, and then we let them have a look at each other.


This is not the first thing that happened. What happened first, of all things, is that Tinky-Winky wagged her tail and went to sniff Diesel's butt.

???????????

That has never happened. She's learned to tolerate being sniffed, and she's even taken, quite recently, to wagging her tail at other dogs, but I had never, ever, to that point, seen her make friendly overtures and take the initiative for butt-sniffing. And here, of course, Diesel returns the compliment.

Then:


They're perfectly friendly. No snapping took place at any point. No growling. No aggression. Somehow, the two fightingest dogs in the building immediately hit it off as Best Friends Forever. I tells ya, you could have knocked me down with a feather.

Have you seen a basenji?

Notice how people with purebred dogs will ask for the breed when their dog is lost? "Have you seen a basset hound? Have you seen a corgi? Have you seen a Chesapeake Bay retriever?" Friend, I could see a whole herd of Chesapeake Bay retrievers and I wouldn't even know it. Can you describe it?

Get this: the guy looking for the Chesapeake Bay retriever described it as "a brown dog." That's all. No size, no coat description, no ears or face... Goes from very specifically "Chesapeake Bay retriever" to just "brown dog."

As it happened, I hadn't seen a brown dog. But if ever your dog is lost, I rather recommend describing it rather than counting on the average citizen's knowledge of dog breeds. When I'm looking for Her Majesty, I ask people if they've seen "a little orange dog with a pointy face". Because "shiba inu" means nothing to them, even after I've introduced Her Majesty many, many times. (I keep telling the paper to do a story about her, which would be vastly more interesting than half their other fluff pieces, but so far, no luck.)

That being said, I don't have to ask people about my dog unless they're new to town. Everyone who lives here has seen me walking my dog. I know this, because total strangers will walk up to me and say "I saw you walking your dog." So in the unlikely event that Her Majesty would be lost, I can just ask people "have you seen my dog?" But most of the time I don't have to. First of all, because Her Majesty does not get lost. We've been all over this town for the last seven years; she knows exactly where she is and how to get back to her food dish. Second, when we do take separate walks, people will come find me and say "your dog is lost, she's at (such place)." Or they will look me up on Facebook. Or they will tell their friend who will find me on Facebook. In any case, I will be promptly informed of the whereabouts of The Creature. Which is very nice of everybody, of course, but I just thank them politely and don't bother going to look where they said, because by the time I get there, she'll have made her way back home. So I just stay right where I am and wait for her.

Some people's dogs, when they get loose, roam the whole town for days. Carter once ran from town all the way to Paradise Gardens, which is at least 20 km. Her Majesty would never do that. Partly because she's never been to Paradise and has no reason to come up with such an idea, and partly because she's far too lazy.

So the moral is, as it always is, walk your dog more. Then your dog is less likely to be lost, because 1) it will know the way home, 2) everyone else will recognise it as your dog, and 3) it won't be tempted to make the most of its scarce freedom.

So long, old friend

You may remember Carter, Tinky-Winky's best friend. Carter was born 17 February 2003 and only ever had one human. In 2006, his human's then-boyfriend was working with my then-boyfriend, and sometimes the two of them would bring "their" respective dogs to work. That's how Tinky-Winky and Carter met. Back then, she was still psychotically aggressive, but she got used to Carter. I don't think they ever had a real fight, although Tinky-Winky snapped at him a fair number of times.

On the other hand, the guys didn't introduce myself and Carter's human. We only met years later, when we had each broken up with the then-boyfriend. And we recognised each other by our dogs. Then we became friends. Recently, Carter's human had to be out of town a lot, and one time she couldn't get her usual dog-sitter, so she asked me. So Tinky-Winky and I spent a couple of days at Carter's house. Then we ended up dog-sitting him every time his human was out of time, because we all got along so well.

Finally, after we had spent many days as a pack of three, something amazing happened: Tinky-Winky played with Carter. They were running loose in the off-leash area (we have official off-leash areas in town, though you can't really tell the difference with the rest of town), and Carter ran up to Tinky-Winky and balled her over. I thought she'd freak and try to rip his throat out, but she just rolled over, got back up and ran after him.

Whoa.

I never thought I'd see the day when my dog would let another dog approach her casually, let alone participate in any kind of playful behaviour. And after that, she'd actually let him sniff her butt and not snap at him. Another thing she absolutely doesn't allow. Her second-best friend, Otis, who is almost as big as Carter and fascinated by Tinky-Winky, loves to get her to snap at him so he can make a big show of leaping out of reach. Then he does it again. They both seem to find this game hilarious. But anyway, even Otis does not get to sniff Her Majesty's butt. He has to do a kind of drive-by sniffing and get out of reach before she can turn on him.

So, that was Carter.

Was.

Carter saw the vet for his annual check-up on Monday, June 4. They said he was well enough though obviously declining, which seemed normal for his age. Of late he had been unable to jump into the car, but what can you do. Dogs age. His labs were a little off, but nothing serious.

Tuesday, Carter was his usual self.

Wednesday morning, Carter couldn't get up. He had to be carried out to relieve himself, then helped back up the steps, and then he lay down and didn't move all day. His human called the vet, who by then had left town. (The vet lives three hours away and comes here a few days a month with his portable clinic.) The vet was alarmed. Plans began to be made to transport Carter to Edmonton the next day.

In the evening, Carter started shaking, and then he started to have seizures. I wasn't there, but I hear it was very traumatic. The decision was made to put him down. Unfortunately, when the vet isn't here, we have no mainstream way of euthanising dogs, so we have the choice of shooting them or trying to overdose them on whatever prescription drugs are at hand. Yes, yes, it's barbaric. What can you do. That's the price we pay for the freedom our dogs get. I've often said the best part of this town is the dog-walking. But anyway, the problem is, it's very difficult to obtain any prescription drug in a quantity that can kill a 100-lb dog. Most drugs aren't even strong enough to kill a rat. So Carter was given something, which didn't kill him, but mercifully stopped the seizures.

After a while, his human, who had been holding his hand the whole time, left the room for some reason. Immediately his breathing shallowed. The other people who were there called the human back, but before she could get back to him he was gone. I guess he was holding on to her all that time. It was Thursday morning, June 7. The vet thinks it may have been a toxin, or a tumour in the spine (boxers are prone to them), or perhaps one small thing that precipitated a cascade of failure due to his age and declining condition.

We buried Carter that evening in one of his favourite spots. He got a four-car motorcade and five pall bearers. There were eight people at his funeral, plus Tinky-Winky. At first Her Majesty wanted to participate in the grave-digging, but she got aggravated with the five-year-old girl who kept chasing her everywhere. As you know, little girls love Her Majesty, and the feeling is extremely not mutual. So after a while she absconded, then the kid lost interest, then Her Majesty came back and lay on the beach watching us work with her smug shiba grin. She was clearly having a grand old time. I wasn't watching her when we took Carter out of the car and put him in the grave, so I don't know if she ever clued in. Certainly she was completely indifferent to the fact that half the humans, myself included, were crying. She's never been the kind of dog that "knows exactly what you're feeling".

After the family had left and I had captured Her Majesty, I carried her to the grave to say goodbye. She still had no reaction. I still don't know if she's aware that her best friend for the least six years has died.

Carter leaves behind his very sad human, her two daughters, and her two step-daughters. And a hard-hearted little shiba. And me. He wasn't always what you'd call a "good dog." He was insanely strong in his prime and would take off after squirrels on a regular basis. He'd escape and roam the town all night. He ate the family garbage, and the baby-proofing locks that were installed to keep him out of the garbage. He also made an annual tradition of eating the littlest girl's gingerbread house. He got into an awful lot of dog fights. He was famous for his drooling. But he was extremely devoted to his family and a staunch protector, and a genuinely good person. He liked people and wanted to be liked. He was affectionate and funny and had infinite patience with the children. He was even good to cats. He wasn't even my dog and I miss him terribly.

Goodbye, old friend. You did good.

Albert the Optimist

Albert is one of Tinky-Winky's habitual victims. He brings it on himself.

We first met Albert in the winter of 2010-11. He was a puppy and had been dumped at the pound, and taken home by a pound volunteer so he wouldn't freeze to death. (Due to financial constraints, the pound / SPCA does not have an indoor kennel.) So Albert was walking with his foster people, off leash. Albert is always off-leash, even during the Bylaw Guy's work hours.

Albert looks like some sort of small retriever, black with a white chest. He's quite cute. And he's always been extremely enthusiastic about Tinky-Winky. The first time we met him, when he was tiny, he ran up to us, stuck his nose in Tinky-Winky's face, and got a licking.

The second time we met Albert, he ran up to us, stuck his nose in Tinky-Winky's face, and got a licking.

The third time we met Albert, he ran up to us, stuck his nose in Tinky-Winky's face, and got a licking.

Now that he's about two years old, Albert is taller than Tinky-Winky. He still runs up to us every time he sees us, sticks his nose in Tinky-Winky's face, and gets a licking. His people always recognise her and try to warn him, but he never listens. And no matter how many times he gets a licking, he's still delighted to see her, every single time.

It's too bad people aren't more like dogs.

Sunday morning off-leash

Pwnage: you're doing it wrong

Tinky-Winky and I went house-sitting last weekend. Technically we were "sitting" the dog, Carter, who is Tinky-Winky's oldest, dearest "friend". They've known each other since... almost since I first got Tinky-Winky in September 2005. The way they met is that my ex and Carter's owner's ex were friends. Carter's owner and I didn't even meet until 2009.

Carter is a nine-year-old boxer. As such, he drools. A lot. Also, he farts a lot. So I decided to go to their house rather than letting him come to ours. Therefore, Her Majesty went on a progress to Carter's house, and I, her faithful servant, brought her household goods.

Being best friends forever, Carter and Tinky-Winky completely ignored each other. And yes, that shows what good friends they are. Of course we know how Her Majesty is with other dogs. She hasn't been in a fight in nearly two years now, but she does snap at the nose of any dog that doesn't grovel before her. Carter isn't as consistently and masterfully ferocious as Her Majesty was in her day, but he weighs somewhere close to 100 lbs, and has been in quite a few fisticuffs. He's not a very good fighter, as far as I can tell, so he doesn't win, but he does instigate. So, having the two in the same house, ignoring each other completely, for 48 hours, shows that they're very dear friends, or possibly, that I'm the next Dog Whisperer.

The first evening, each dog lay on Her or his own bed. At bedtime, I put Her Majesty's bed next to the owner's bed, which is immensely wide and high. Her Majesty can't, or won't try, to jump that high, so I figured she'd sleep on her bed, and Carter would do... whatever. I didn't think he was allowed on the bed.

Ha.

Carter jumped up on the bed and tried to sit on me. Did I mention he's close to 100 lbs? I can control him on the leash, but I couldn't wrestle him off the bed, so I picked up Her Majesty and put her near me. At this point they had words, because if there is one thing Her Majesty absolutely will not suffer, it's another dog being closer to me than she is. So Carter backed off a few inches, and then all three of us had a nice pleasant night's sleep.

The second day, Her Majesty took over Carter's dog bed. Carter didn't say anything, but lay miserably on the floor. Also, Carter got unwell. He hardly ate all day. Seeing as he is on a diet and supposed to eat only two scoops a day, I thought I'd outwit him and give him a half-scoop four times a day, so I could feed him when he asked yet not over-feed him. But he didn't even eat what I gave him. He did drink a lot, though, with the obvious result that he loosened his bowel considerably and spent the evening pissing like a racehorse - the first time, unfortunately, in the house; the next six outside. After that he wasn't feeling all that cuddly, so he slept on the floor the second night, and Her Majesty and I had the bed to ourselves.

The third day, Carter decided to get cocky, thusly:


Hmmmm...

He's lying on Her Majesty's bed.

Amazingly, Tinky-Winky let him, and didn't even object to his smell being on it afterwards. Even though she won't even drink from the same dish he does, on account of the drooling. Still, Carter seems less than thrilled with this new bed. Maybe because he can't even fit completely on it, let alone sprawl out.

So the moral is twofold: first, nobody pwns Her Majesty; and second, if I get a borzoi, I'll need a much bigger dog bed.

Don't get a dog

And you thought I was crazy...

I have a long weekend of nothing going on, and I'm housesitting in a house with internet, so I'm looking at pictures of borzois. For example:


The dog is Kenai's Flight of Fantasy, at Kenai Borzoi. But the really important thing about this photo is, apparently I'm not the craziest dog-lady out there. At least my dog doesn't have a fancy leopard-print Recamier chair. (Yet.)

The ten-dog race, again

I don't like the look of this

The front door of our building is metal to about halfway up, and then glass. As Tinky-Winky and I were heading out on our evening stroll today, I saw there was a young girl outside the door. I would guess about twelve years old. And when she saw us, she started moving in a way that suggested, to me at least, that she was handling a dog. I figured, probably a yorkie or something rat-like and killable like that; so I picked up Her Majesty and carried on.

Ha.

When I opened the door, all I could see was a blur of brindled hide. I got the impression that it was a pitbull, from its colour, but it was so in my face, I never got a good look. And more than that, it was trying to get in Her Majesty's face. Tinky-Winky seemed cowed at first, but then, I got the impression it nipped her, and she started snarling and barking furiously.

Meanwhile, I was trying to push the dog away from me and down, as it was trying to stand up against me. Less relevantly, the girl was yanking on its chain and begging it to obey her. As if that would do anything. And I was trying to manage the dog with one hand, since I had Tinky-Winky under the other arm, and talk to all three so as to calm Tinky-Winky, control the dog, and prevent the kid from freaking out.

Finally I pushed the creature far enough off me that I could walk past it, and let it and the girl get through the door and into the lobby. Thinking that was that, I turned my back on them and put Tinky-Winky back down. Immediately the dog actually pushed its way out the closing door again to try to come at us. WTF???

I shoved him back and forced the door shut in his face until it locked.

Phew!

Ok, so that was NOT cool. I still think, looking at my stored mental image of it, that it has the physique of a pitbull, but taller. It's a tan colour with brindling and four white feet. Quite handsome, actually, but it's the most aggressive large dog I've ever seen. Tinky-Winky was significantly worse when I got her, but as I always say, had she been a large dog, she'd have been put down early on. The only reason she wasn't a serious danger is because she's small and easy to overpower. This creature is less aggressive in that he didn't attack with lightning speed and single-minded purpose like she used to. On the other hand, it had absolutely no respect for me. If you're one of those people who "don't believe in dominance", then you wouldn't know what I'm talking, but I'm the dominant bitch. Dogs give me respect. Come to think of it, "respect" is another word for "dominance". If you don't want to think of it as being "dominant" to your dog, think of it as "respect" and the obvious fact that your dog has none for you. Hey, if you don't believe in it, why would anyone give you any?

Well, the dominance thing isn't the point here. The point is, dogs give me respect. I rarely have to put my hands on them to get my space respected, let alone apply force. And being a construction worker, I can apply more force than most women. So if this dog won't back down and I can't overpower it, that's rather alarming. And the fact that its owner lets it walk around with a little girl who has absolutely no power over it is very alarming.

When you think about it, there seems to be an alarming amount of interest in pitbulls in this town lately. And all of them, as far as I can tell, are in the wrong hands.

Hmmmmm...

Have you got a shar pei?

I'm not looking for another dog. Tinky-Winky is in excellent health and will be my only dog as long as she lives. But, once upon a time, I joked that when she's gone I'm gonna get a shar pei, because it looks surly and not cute at all, and it feels like petting a toothbrush; that way I'll finally be able to walk my dog without being interrupted every few years by someone who thinks it's adorable.

That being said, I've heard that shar peis smell and are prone to various ailments, particularly of the eyes. So if anyone reading this has, or had, a shar pei, I'd like to hear about your experiences with them.

Kthxbai.

Be still, my heart!

I met a really handsome dog. His name is Bruce and he's a nine-month-old akita puppy.

At the other end of the leash is a really handsome young... carpenter.

O.

M.

G.

I must find out if they have an alpha bitch in their pack, or if they could be asked to join our pack. Tinky-Winky hasn't even tried snapping at Bruce yet, even though he's incredibly hyper, so it's promising. I think she's too smart to snap at dogs that can squish her like a bug.

Maybe we should pee on the guy's apartment door to make sure no other bitches can go in there?

I'm totally judging you

I'm totally judgmental. I'm better than I used to be, but I'm totally judgmental. And I'm judging you by your dog. Is your dog clean, groomed, shiny, happy and well-behaved? Then I like you. Unless it's a breed that I don't think should even be bred, in which case I don't trust you. If you have a large dog, I think you're full of yourself. If your dog is dirty, I think you're lazy and negligent. Unless he's soaked and covered in fresh mud, in which case maybe you just took him for an energetic walk. If you have a tiny dog, I think you're absurd. If you have a very stupid dog, I think you're insecure. And if your dog has behavioural problems, I definitely don't like you.

There is a saying that there are no bad horses, only bad riders. And so with dogs. There are no bad dogs. If your dog has problems, its main problem is probably you. So I'm totally judging you by your dog, and I'm merciless. It's a sin, but I do it anyway.

The black dog, or why retrievers should be banned

I think it was two summers ago, on a street that Tinky-Winky and I traverse on our daily walks, two households got puppies. One was a large black lab. The other was an even larger yellow... lab, or something. The yellow dog had a fenced yard. The black dog didn't. Therefore, the black dog was allowed to spend the days at the yellow dog's house, playing together in the fenced yard. Everything was copacetic.

Unfortunately, puppies don't stay small forever. The two puppies became huge, and for lack of training, they became unmanageable. The yellow dog was gotten rid of. The black dog wasn't. But since it wasn't invited to play in the fenced yard anymore, it got tied outside its house. All by itself. So it started to bark and jump up and down whenever people or dogs walk by. This was a nuisance, so the people fixed it with... a shock collar. Which doesn't really work.

Since I've been home for a few months, I started working on that dog. I approach her to pet her. If she barks or jumps, I leave. If she's quiet, I pet her. So it took months, but now when she sees me coming, she lies down quietly and waits for me to come to her. Then she rolls over on her back. Did I mention it took MONTHS? Most people are amazed how fast I can get their dog to roll over. This one took months. (On the other hand, I had Tinky-Winky full-time for 2 1/2 YEARS before she would roll over, which tells you something about how headstrong she is.)

The other day, I was petting the black dog, and she was lying down quietly. A human came out of the house, and immediately the black dog was jumping and barking. The human yelled at her. (Why? The dog barks, you yell; the dog thinks you're doing what she's doing, then she does it some more.) Amid all the noise, I said to the human "she's getting better though, isn't she?" and the human said "oh, I don't know, some days she's ok and others she's just impossible."

Hmmmmmm...

No, I don't think she's impossible at all. I spend two minutes with your dog once or twice a day and she's quiet with me. You live here and she barks and jumps at you. That seem funny to you? Well it doesn't seem "funny" to me at all. Your dog isn't "impossible", she's bored and lonely. She wants to play. With another dog, preferrably, but she'd be happy to spend time with a human. When is the last time you walked her? When is she ever allowed to sit quietly beside you? She's tied up outside all day, every day, all by herself, watching everybody walk by and pay no attention to her. Poor dog.

It goes without saying, the black dog is not getting walked. I've seen her walking with her human ONCE and I was all happy that they were walking, but it turned out she had escaped and the human was only bringing her home. I feel I ought to walk her, but honestly, I don't want to. For one thing, she's at the farthest point of our walk from home, so it's really inconvenient. I also hate picking up after large dogs. It grosses me out. Also, Tinky-Winky hates her. And also, inevitably, she's gonna be a huge pain to walk on leash for quite some time. I'm a construction worker, so I can handle a fairly strong dog, but I don't really like to spend my walks doing that.

Also, because she's such a large dog, she needs to walk fast, not dawdle along at Tinky-Winky's whim. Tinky-Winky on the leash is painfully slow, because she's uncooperative. Every two seconds she has to pee, or scratch, or tangle herself in her leash, or pick sticky tree things off her paw pads, or smell something, or otherwise find anything to do that isn't walking along with me. It's takes us forever to get anywhere. Take the leash off though, we're like the wind. But that's a story for another post. The point is, a two-year-old lab needs to move a lot faster than an ornery 12-year-old shiba. In fact, in order to get up enough speed to get that dog exercised, I'd need a bike. And that's not in the budget for this year. So, I'm not offering to walk the black dog, and I feel bad for her, but I just don't really want to take on her problems. I also get the feeling that her female human is getting annoyed by my interference with her dog.

So that's one reason people shouldn't have retrievers. I don't know a single retriever who gets walked. People say "they're good with children." Yeah, well, they're very patient dogs, but that's absurd. Teach your children to be good with dogs, instead of expecting the dog to put up with them. You know what "good with dogs" means? It means you WALK THEM. Teach your kids to walk the dog. Three hours a day, fast enough that the dog is trotting, not walking. Don't worry about the dog being "good with kids"; the dog is gonna treat your kids a thousand times better than you're gonna treat the dog.

Nobody should have a dog they're not gonna walk, and no one I know who has a retriever ever walks further than the couch to the fridge. Some say they need the dog to hunt with, but first of all they don't train it for hunting, and second, what are you gonna do with the dog the other 363 days a year? Tie it out in the yard and ignore it? That's nice. Some poor dog is gonna spend his or her whole life crying in your yard because you want to feel like a big man with a gun a couple weekends a year.

Here is how you know if you need a retriever: do you spend two to three hours a day, every day, even when it's raining or very cold, jogging, biking or rollerblading? If so, get a big dog. If not, do you spend two to three hours a day, every day, even when it's raining or very cold, walking? If so, get a dog that trots at the speed you walk. If not, get a ferret. Some people, seriously, even a bearskin rug is too much of a pet for them.

The other reason people shouldn't have retrievers is that they're so prone to cancer. I've read somewhere that 40% of retrievers get cancer. Is that true? I don't know. But they sure don't last very long. Cancer in a dog costs thousands of dollars. A friend of mine has a pug who just got diagnosed with cancer. It cost over $4,000 just to diagnose her. She's 5 1/2 and she will be dead in a month or two. Chemo could buy her another month or two, but there's no money left for chemo. I think spending thousands of dollars on a dog with high medical needs is a waste anyway, but you can always get more money, and you'd probably waste it anyway. But the bigger thing is, YOUR DOG IS GONNA DIE OF CANCER. Why would you buy a dog so you can watch it die of cancer at a young age? Even supposing you're completely selfish (which you probably are if you're getting a dog that you're not planning to walk), and you don't care that the dog is gonna suffer, do you think YOU are gonna enjoy watching your dog die of cancer?

So that's why retrievers should be banned. Some breeds get banned because somebody decided to stick the label "vicious" on them, instead of putting the blame on the owners, where it belongs. Well, "vicious" dogs are only dogs that have been mistreated. Retrievers have miserable lives with people who don't take care of them, and then they die a slow and painful death. Isn't that being mistreated? Just because they don't turn on people doesn't make it ok. So they should be banned, not because they're dangerous to people, but because people are dangerous to them. You want to feel like a big man, buy a Harley. It won't mind one bit sitting in front of the house day in, day out while you don't take care of it.

My dog, the Grinch

Yesterday, in the lobby of our building, we met a girl who was holding a three-week-old puppy. It could barely lift its head or open its eyes. She oohed and aahed about how cute my dog is. I oohed and aahed about how cute her dog is. Then I was like "Tinky-Winky, come look at the puppy!" I was gonna pick her up and hold her so she could see, but the girl was faster than me. She crouched and stuck the puppy in Tinky-Winky's face, which as you and I know, is never a good idea.

Fortunately, Tinky-Winky is cranky, but not evil. She did not snap at the three-week-old puppy. Instead she sniffed at it for about two seconds and then lost interest.

WOW. How heartless was that? I know it's not her puppy, but it's a tiny orphan and she's had three litters, you'd think she could show the slightless glimmer of maternal instinct?

Well, at least I don't need to worry anymore about her abducting a fox cub or other wild creature while she's off-leash. Clearly, the last thing she wants is more puppies. Little great-grand-mother Grinch.